


Longing

by spacialstars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, CaPtAiN HQ, Can be read on its own, Children, Conductor - Freeform, Family, Family Angst, Fluff and Angst, Kotori - Freeform, M/M, Music, Natsu is in it briefly but she's important, Sad, Violins, a part of a larger fic im writing, kind of short, music!Hinata Shouyou, music!Kageyama Tobio, they have a son, why do I write these
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacialstars/pseuds/spacialstars
Summary: “Did you really get me flowers for my birthday, Tobio?” His bright-haired Papa snickered, taking the flowers and kissing his husband on the lips this time. His other Papa smiled the way he did when he was undeniably happy; all wobbly and slightly weird.
The boy reached for them both as if they were the tethers of the world, and they held him as if he belonged nowhere else but in their arms. They both smiled at him and asked him if he enjoyed his first concert, exuding a warmth he wasn’t sure he could ever get used to. 
They were the happiest things in his life.
  He wondered if they knew how happy he was too…
 
A story about the son of two great musicians and what they mean to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A short story written for my work-in-progress CaPtAiN HQ au, but can be read on its own.
> 
> "Kotori" can be roughly translated from Japanese as "little bird".

A small boy, his dark-almond eyes alight, peered deeply; concentrating on something no one else could quite see. Another hand patted his brown hair down as if to try and tame it. The boy looked up at the other person and grinned.

“It’s working, Aunt Natsu!” He bounced excitedly.

The woman laughed and grabbed his hand. Her fiery hair glowed dimly beneath the concert hall lights, “Come on, Kotori. It’s about to start.”

“Do you think Papa will be happy to see me?”

“I think both your Papa’s will always be happy to see you.”

The auditorium arched high above the boy and his aunt. Hushed conversation rolled over the space and sunk into plush seats. Compared to the boy, the stage was almost too high and he had to lean far back into his seat just so he could see over the lip.

The boy squirmed, obviously bored and excited at the same time. He asked his aunt to read him the kanji in the pamphlet and in turn amazed her with his innate knowledge of Tchaikovsky and Bach. When the lights finally dimmed and the audience hushed, the boy had already decided to record the entire concert. 

He sat frozen in place like his papa's taught him and waited patiently while the orchestra took their seats. In from the corner quickly strolled his Papa with his orange hair wildly aflame and his crisp suit hanging comfortably across his shoulders. He casually took his seat at the front corner and took his time tuning his violin. Dissonant keys and notes stabbed at the empty air from the other players, but the boy only had eyes for his Papa. The image of his intense gaze but his relaxed bearing stamped itself into his memory.

Suddenly the room hushed, followed by applause. The final player strolled onto the stage; his steps sure and his coattails fluttered behind him. In comparison the boy’s other Papa, his smooth-midnight hair laid neatly along the outline of his face. His blue eyes were just as intense and focused. The boy watched in awe as his Papa climbed onto the podium and silenced the entire room with a single, graceful flick of his baton. 

His hand lifted. The symphony breathed. 

A lovely chord sang the few opening notes to Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings in C Major, OP. 48. The boy never took his eyes away from the broad back of his conducting Papa. He watched as the older man’s shoulders contracted and his back stiffened; his knees buckled and his elbows snapped. His hands expertly floated through and sliced the air. His hair fanned outwards from the pure passion of his movements and soon a sheen of sweat could be seen collecting along his neck and jawline.

Almost as if his body was the music itself. 

Then the boy turned to gaze at the elegance of his violin Papa. His bow moved nimbly and sure across his strings and his fingers flew at terrifying speeds. The boy wondered not for the first time how long it would take for him to be just as good. Though his feet remained solid on the ground, his Papa’s body swayed and hopped along with the intricate melodies. His eyes never left the conductor and his baton. Not once did he look at his music and not once did he miss a cue.

If the boy listened closely, he would have sworn he could pick out his Papa’s unique sound from the rest. It was warm, playful, and familiar; just like his Papa.

The melody finally ended with a few long notes and a last hurrah from the strings. The chord echoed and after a few beats of heavy silence, the audience applauded with as much gusto as an orchestra audience could muster.

However, the boy did not join them. He was too busy watching the two most important people in his life. His conducting Papa stepped off the podium and bowed deeply, eliciting another long, thunderous round of applause. The boy noticed his violin Papa grinning brightly, then he too bowed along with the rest of his company.

The symphony retook their seats and an older man stepped forward to the microphone to introduce their next piece. The boy watched the remainder of the concert with unconcealed awe. He soaked in the pure passion of the music and its players, and dreamed of the day he could take up his own instrument and join them. 

When the final note of the final piece rang, the boy was standing on his seat with the rest of the auditorium. His small claps violently shook the camera. 

“Are you ready?” His aunt smiled down at him. People all around the auditorium were already emptying the room and their voices once again rolled over in waves. The boy nodded eagerly and hopped from his high chair to finally head backstage. 

They reached a dim, narrow hallway where recognizable members of the symphony milled about. They gave the little boy quick waves and familiar smiles. In the distance, the boy recognized the bright hair of one of his Papa's.

“Quick, give me the flowers,” he shoved the camera towards his Aunt. She laughed and carefully handed him a giant bouquet of roses tightly held by a lovely golden ribbon.

He then ditched her and sprinted forward with a joyful screech that resonated too loud in that confined space, “Papa!”

The bright-haired violinist simultaneously closes his maroon violin case and turned; an exuberant grin immediately stretching up his face. Papa’s smiles reminded the boy of early Saturday mornings and long summers in the sun. He captured the boy as he leaps into his arms and spun him around, laughing, “Kotori, what are you doing here?”

“Happy 40th birthday, Papa!”

The violinist shushed him quickly, “Hey, don't say that so loud. People are going to think I'm old.”

“You are old, idiot.”

The boy swung around, looking for the voice and nearly fell out of his Papa’s arms as his other Papa sneaks up from behind them to give them both a big hug. 

“Papa! Look, I did it!” The boy presented the bouquet proudly.

“You did,” The boy’s black-haired Papa eyed him seriously, “Thank you for safely delivering this important package. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

The boy nodded self-importantly, “I take my job seriously, sir.”

His black-haired Papa considered the boy for a long moment before he finally caved and mussed the boy’s already messy hair. His other Papa snickered and planted a kiss squarely on his husband’s cheek, eliciting a rare smile almost as warm as his other half’s, but not for the same reasons. The way his black-haired Papa smiled reminded the boy of hot chocolate and fairy tales told during the hushed hours of bedtime.

“Did you really get me flowers for my birthday, Tobio?” His bright-haired Papa snickered, taking the flowers and kissing his husband on the lips this time. His other Papa smiled the way he did when he was undeniably happy; all wobbly and slightly weird.

The boy reached for them both as if they were the tethers of the world, and they held him as if he belonged nowhere else but in their arms. They both smiled at him and asked him if he enjoyed his first concert, exuding a warmth he wasn’t sure he could ever get used to. 

They were the happiest things in his life.

_He wondered if they knew how happy he was too…_

+++

The man leans back into his chair, cracking the hard leather beneath his weight. The television screen across from him fades to black, the world of the young boy and his Papa’s returns to digital code and memories.

In its place is a small, stark room with two occupants living in the spaces they made for themselves. It roils within them. 

An elder man exists in a bed with stiff sheets and plastic headboards. His salt and pepper hair falls in curtains around a worn face that has seen too many smiles and felt too many frowns. 

The younger man exists in a high-backed chair near the open window where a cool breeze tickles his wild hair and cools the sweaty skin beneath his summer hakama. 

They ignore the sunflowers on the bedstand and out the window.

The man looks over at the elder man beside him and can’t help but feel relief.

Good. He’s smiling this time.

“Do you remember that day, Papa? Papa’s fortieth birthday?” The man asks the silence.

The older man blinks slowly, his blue eyes bright, “Of course I do, Kotori.”

The man, Kotori, swallows, “You and Papa were the best there was.”

The older man’s smile crinkles the leathery skin around his lips. He says his next words as if he has just awoken from a dream, “I remember that too.”

Kotori grins, fighting back the leap in his chest. He reaches over and grabs one of his Papa’s hands, ignoring the itch of the cheap comforter. He remembers how his other Papa always complained about this home never having the decency to buy comfortable blankets.

“Do you want me to play a song for you, Papa? I brought my violin.”

The old composer turns to his son and doesn’t hide his expression of pride. He nods.

Excitedly, the man reaches down for his violin case and rests it carefully on the bed beside his father so he could watch. The red leather of the case is worn and peeled at the seams, but it still smoothly reflects the light of the late afternoon sun. Kotori opens it and heaves the beautiful violin from the black velvet and into the crook of his neck. He plucks at the strings, listening closely and adjusting minutely. 

Meanwhile his Papa runs his long fingers along the case with careful eyes and a fond smile, “I bet not even Shouyou complains with how well you’ve taken care of it.”

The man swallows and deftly swings his bow into place, the taut horsehair hums without his permission as if it could play purely without his bidding. 

“Of course I would take good care of it. Papa loves his violin,” The man declares. Even to his own ears he sounds distant.

The old man nods, still absently stroking the case; though his eyes are extraordinarily present. He waits in silence. Under his gaze, Kotori feels like a boy again and nervously readjusts the instrument before finally taking a breath and slowing his heart. He returns his mind to the piece, not on the notes, but on the feeling and the movements.

If Papa had ever taught him anything, it was that there is no point with him doing anything right, if he didn’t do it with heart. 

He breathes.

The man closes his eyes and slowly runs the bow down the strings in one dramatic motion. A familiar harmonious chord sings and Kotori feels his father tense in recognition before relaxing back into his serene stillness. The man knows the piece must sound empty without the accompanying instruments, but he plays anyways. He knows his father wrote it with his beloved in mind, so the man plays with his beloved Papa in mind as well. 

He tells himself not to cry.

He breathes the silences.

The man recalls his Papa’s slim fingers moving along the narrow neck of his violin and his bright voice calmly explaining the playfulness of notes and the fickleness of harmonies. He remembers the way his other Papa would listen with absolute patience towards them both, despite his husband’s silly descriptions and his son’s terrible playing. 

_“Solos can be beautiful,” Papa pushed his ginger bangs back from his face, his brown eyes bright and knowing. He leaned over to his son who was listening with a certain avidity that until recently could only have beeen found with his fathers, “But nothing is more exciting than playing with someone else. Don’t you think, Tobio?”_

_Tobio, from his seat nearby, smiled slightly. He sipped his tea and sat back into his chair in the pretense that he wasn't just listening and was returning to his work, “Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”_

_The boy’s bright-haired Papa eyed his husband mournfully. He turned to his son and sighed, “After all these years, your Papa still won’t admit that I’m the best thing that ever happened to him-”_

_“Shouyou,” The boy’s other Papa interrupted, putting down his tea and turning back to his maudlin husband, “You’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”_

_“Hey-” Shouyou sputtered until Tobio cut him off again._

_“Kotori is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re my second best.”_

_Shouyou froze for a moment and Tobio took that time to admire his own cleverness and the way he could still surprise his husband. The shocked young boy watched between them, wondering if his Papa was really mad or not._

_His worries were for nought when Shouyou bursts out laughing seconds later. He pulled both his son and husband close to his chest and kissed them both squarely on the cheek multiple times as if the first time wasn’t enough to express his happiness._

_Neither the boy nor his husband minded…_

The man moves into the second part of the piece, knowing he is crying now and hardly cares. Distantly, he hears his Papa humming along and he wonders if he is hearing his black-haired Papa in the room or the Papa from his memories. 

When Kotori plays the final note, he lets it float off into the space and waits until it disappears from both the air and his heart. He slowly lowers his instrument and opens his eyes.

He finds his Papa isn’t looking at him but at the sunflowers growing outside his window. He is wearing the most peaceful smile Kotori has not seen him wear for a long while. 

He is the one who speaks first.

“憧れ,” He whispers, “Longing.”

Kotori nods, “You wrote a lot for Papa, but I think this one is my favorite.”

“Thank you for playing it for me. Has Shouyou heard it too?”

“Yes,” Kotori hesitates, “I play it for him a lot, though it’s not the same as when I play with an accompaniment.”

The man’s Papa shakes his head and points to his chest, “It’s okay. I can hear it in here,” Kotori resists an old urge to tease his Papa about that statement. It sounded too much like his husband’s words, “The way you play reminds me of him, you know.”

The man swallows and grips his violin in a way he knows any musician would have cringed, “Thank you, Papa.”

He smiles then, “Do you plan on seeing him again today?”

Kotori nods and busies his shaking hands with replacing his father’s instrument back into its case. He smooths down the velvet lovingly, “I was going to visit him now, actually.”

His Papa hums. Kotori feels his gaze follow him as he latches the case and lifts it by the handle as he stands. The man hesitates, wondering not at his Papa’s blank expression, but at the odd light behind his eyes,

He then leans over to kiss his Papa on his cheek, ignoring the stubble that burns his lips. 

“I have to go now, Papa. Make sure you get a lot of rest, okay?”

“I promise.”

The man is heading towards the door when his Papa calls after him, and he isn’t surprised, “Kotori, wait.”

“Yeah?” 

“Tell Shouyou…” 

The man tenses, awaiting the usual demand that his husband should visit him more often and that next time Kotori should bring his granddaughter along too.

But this time it never comes.

“Tell him that I’ll be seeing him soon and that I love him.”

Kotori smiles, hiding the way his heart clenched and the sudden chill that seeps into his bones, “I will. Love you, Papa.”

“Love you too, Kotori.”

The man doesn’t break until the door to his father’s room closes behind him. Immediately he is pulled into the arms of his wife who was just outside waiting for him like she promised. She murmurs consoling words he could not understand and let him cry into her chest.

She leads him to one of the waiting benches and holds him until he finally calms down and collects himself enough to stop crying; though he couldn’t find the strength within himself to pull away.

“What happened?” she whispers, kissing his cheek.

Kotori sighs, “I played for him this time.”

“I heard. It was beautiful.”

“I think he knows,” Kotori rasps, “He was so… aware today. I think he figured it out.”

She hesitates, “That’s a good thing isn’t it?”

The man shrugs, truly feeling lost in the sea of his own questions and hopelessness. He just wanted things to be simpler. To end.

“Maybe. If he was going to remember tomorrow. But he won’t, Tomo. In an hour, he won’t even remember I was here today.”

She doesn’t respond.

Eventually Kotori collects himself enough to let her lead him out of the care home and back to their car. She silently drives them to their next destination, letting her husband stew in his own thoughts and ready himself for his next ordeal. When they arrive, she tells him she’ll wait for him in the car like usual.

Kotori takes his next journey alone; a the violin in hand and a song in his chest. He meanders through the row and rows of people who have long since passed until he arrives at the ridge of a hill overlooking a small pond full of ducks and cranes. The cool, late afternoon breeze pulls at his hair and cards through his shirt as if it is welcoming him home again.

The man looks down at the gravestone and swallows over a new lump in his chest. He reads:

Here Lies Hinata Shouyou  
Beloved Father and Husband  
May his music play forever till the end of days.

The man’s fingers dig craters into his palms.

“Hi Papa, I’m back,” The man smiles weakly, “I hope you weren’t too lonely…”

The man blinks. He looks out at the pond and at the small garden beyond full of pink hydrangeas and daisies. 

“I visited Papa again today. I showed him the video like usual and this time he seemed a lot more attentive. So I played for him our favorite song,” the man laughs despite his tears, “I think he actually remembers this time. Isn’t that great? He told me to tell you that he’ll be seeing you soon and that h-he loves you.”

The man clears his throat.

“I think… I think even if his mind thinks and remembers that he saw you just the day before, I think his body and heart knows that you’re gone. I think deep down, he really misses you,” Kotori laughs again, “But maybe you already knew that.”

The man grips the violin case, feeling the smooth leather and the weight dig into his fingers. He listens to the trees crash together in the distant forest, and the fish breaching the calm surface of the pond. He thinks about his Papa, stuck in limbo, waiting to see his beloved again. He thinks of his Papa, already gone, and wonders whether the music of his violin actually reaches him.

Kotori drops to his knees and reverently pulls the instrument from its case for the second time that day. He then holds himself upwards, just as his Papa taught him and brings the bow to the strings.

He listens to the Earth above and below. He thinks about his family. He thinks about the music and what it means to him.

Finally, he thinks about his Papa.

_He breathes…_

**Author's Note:**

> Longing or 憧れ is an actual song from the Haikyuu OST, the first season. Should you listen to it? Yes. You should.
> 
> Here let me help you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f3cKoPvVEPI&ab_channel=ShirayukiKitomi


End file.
